


Cole

by Kauri



Series: NSFW Mini-Headcanons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Smut, I know Cole smut is like THE fandom no no, Other, Premature Ejaculation, Sex, Short One Shot, because I am obstinate as fuck, but i had to, non-spirit cole, sexual cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kauri/pseuds/Kauri
Summary: When he gives up his spirit senses, the world gives him back his humanity.





	Cole

When he gives up his spirit senses, the world gives him back his humanity. At first, it comes in bits and pieces. Stilted, half-broken sensations as he reconnects fully with his own body. Scent is first. Smoke. Rain. The warm places behind your ears. Color comes next. Creeps in like the sunrise -- blues and greys unfurling into pink, and yellow, and gold. Taste comes last. Citrius. And honey. The sharp salt of tears, that remind him of when the world used to whisper its sadness.

 _Desire._ It must be the strongest of his senses, the way it can overwhelm the rest. He finds himself watching the way you walk, finds his fingers tracing the outlines of your knuckles when he takes your hand. Finds his lips against yours, and there, _yes,_ the taste of you is better than citrus, or honey, or salt. He rubs against you, over and over, greedy and suddenly overwhelmed. All senses firing at once. And even that subtle sensation, that warm press of you, through breeches and leather, is too much. He comes in his pants, just like that. Nearly comes undone.

It’s months before he can last long enough to lay with you. But when he presses himself inside you for the first time, head full of a of a hundred, _thousand_ encounters plucked from the minds of others, he understands suddenly why they always seemed so incomplete. For words would always, _always_ fail to describe _this._ You move against him, the tiniest most hesitant of motions, and he has to fix his teeth in his bottom lip, and struggle against the sensation. You guide him. Rocking. Arching. So tangled together there is hardly any slide at all, just heat, and slickness, and the press of bodies. His hands run up the curve of your spine, babbling almost incoherently. Rattling off half-formed observations, words, so stilted they are barely more than sounds.

In the end, he lasts just long enough. You come, heartbeats apart, and for the barest moment, wreathed in the echoes of your pleasure, he can hear it again. Your thoughts. Whispering as they once did. _I love you,_ they say.

“I love you too.” He whispers back.


End file.
